It is becoming exceedingly clear that in this 13th season of “The Real Housewives of Orange County,” housewife Tamra Judge is the devil.

Not like the scary I’m-gonna-knock-up-Rosemary-and-have-a-demon-spawn devil. No, I’m talking about the lovable little impish devil who just cannot help poking her friends in their backsides with her pitchfork. Because it’s naughty. And it’s fun.

• Housewife Gina Kirschenheiter had been ready to apologize to Emily’s husband Shane the previous episode – for being the drunkest, loudest, last-to-leave guest at the poker party – but after Tamra gets done devil-whispering into Gina’s ear she turns around and tells Emily if anyone should apologize it’s Shane for being rude to her.

• Tamra ambushes housewife Shannon Beador with a matchmaker to help her get back on the horse that threw her, arguably a nice thing to do for your friend. But then she blabs to the matchmaker personal details about Shannon’s ex and his endowments, or lack thereof.

On the flip side, Vicki’s boyfriend Steve Lodge is the angel of the season, eternally patient and surprisingly sensible for this cast.

“He does zero PDA,” Vicki says in one confessional where she’s cheerfully complaining about his lack of tending to her love tank in public. “I’m a very much lover, oh my god, squeeze his (derriere). He’s like, ‘You’re Mrs. Groper, just get off of me.’

When, while recording an interview to promote her insurance business, Vicki takes a swig of Fireball cinnamon whiskey, starts to pretend she’s got a call-in love advice show and offers her advice on how women can satisfy husbands who are mad at them, it’s Steve who points out the impropriety of her comments.

Later, when the housewives take a well-deserved break from their housewifely duties – talking trash about each other, inflating minor gripes into major beefs, and thinking how they’re going to be able to cover their monthly nut with spousal support that doesn’t support them in the style to which they’ve become entitled to – we learn that’s Kelly intentionally uses generic titles for her dudes du jour.

“I met the Lawyer at a nail salon,” she tells Vicki, Gina and Emily while Tamra escorts Shannon to her matchmaking session in a different part of Tanner’s bar in Huntington Beach.

“You liked him the most,” Vicki says.

“No, I liked the Milkman the most,” Kelly says, a callback to an earlier episode where she insisted she wasn’t having any post-divorce sex except for the then-mysterious Milkman.

“Does the Milkman have a name?” Vicki asks.

“It’s like Mr. Big,” Kelly says, referencing Carrie Bradshaw’s beau in “Sex In The City” and oh-no-you-do-NOT compare yourself to a goddess like Carrie, girlfriend.

Eventually, we get to meet the Milkman, whose name is actually Frank the Milkman, or maybe just Frank Milkman. He’s from New York, he gets out of an SUV limo wearing shorts that are way too short for a man of his age and loafers without socks, and he’s a straight-up legit milkman.

“He’s trying to bring back the nostalgia of the milkman,” Kelly says. “He actually delivers milk.”

They met at the Floyd Mayweather-Conor McGregor fight in Las Vegas, so apparently Frank Milkman pulls fat stacks for delivering milk, and he’s not the jealous type, because he asks her how the dating has been.

Frank Milkman is rightly shocked that Dr. Pain is that old, which he’s not, but who’s counting, right, Kelly, and we’ve previously established she cannot do math.

Frank Milkman then remembers how much he loves Mexican food, like, he could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner, he tells Kelly, and then like a kindergartener who’s just learned his ABCs he proudly starts to name all the Mexican food he likes: Refried beans, taquitos, and on and on and on.

Something tells me these two young lovers – is 40-something still a young lover? – aren’t going to make it.

Oh, right, it’s Kelly, who announces in a later confessional that she’ll enjoy this plaything as long as her current mood continues, saying, “He’s young, nice (but) I’m all about the thrills, not the bills.”

And now, the totals for the week.

Tears: 2 😭😭

… and both times courtesy of the Shannon, the weepiest housewife, on her way to and from a hearing in her divorce with her ex-husband David Beador, who continues to get painted as a villain of the show, fighting her spousal support with lots of anger to hear Shannon tell it. We do get a few nuggets of information between tears, though. Such as the judge ordering David to pay Shannon $30,000 a month, which sent him into a rage, Shannon says, and that she and her lawyer later agreed that $22,500 a month would do fine for now.

Drinks: 12 🍹🍹🍹🍹 🍸🍸🍸🍸🍷🍷🍷🍷

Most of this goes down in a very grown-up fashion, no fighting, no public make out sessions, not topless tumbles into tequila’d-up tubs. We are told by Kelly that Emily’s husband Shane is a Mormon, which sends her and Vicki into flights of fancy about how a Mormon lifestyle just would not fit with a Real Housewives lifestyle.

“If I was married to a Mormon I don’t think it would work,” Vicki says. ” ‘Put your clothes on and stop drinking!’ No, I like to be naked and I like to have a cocktail.”

Seriously, do we need to reconsider this category? What is with our housewives all staying on their feet now?

Inappropriate behavior: 3 😈😈😈

We addressed most of this in the scene featuring Tamra, Emily and Kelly. The only other minor infraction would be Gina and Tamra discussing how Shane is a jerk, but using a different four-letter word that ends in k, in front of Gina’s three small kids.

Swearing: 30! 🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

These women continue to swear like champions. If there were a Premier League for housewives with potty mouths these women would be its stars, Tamra and Gina firing off f-bombs like Mohamed Salah Ghaly or Harry Kane blast shots on goal.

Peter Larsen has been the Pop Culture Reporter for the Orange County Register since 2004, finally achieving the neat trick of getting paid to report and write about the stuff he's obsessed about pretty much all his life. He regularly covers the Oscars and the Emmys, goes to Comic-Con and Coachella, reviews pop music, and conducts interviews with authors and actors, musicians and directors, a little of this and a whole lot of that. He grew up, in order, in California, Arkansas, Kentucky and Oregon. Graduated from Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Ore. with degrees in English and Communications. Earned a master's degree at the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University. Earned his first newspaper paycheck at the Belleville (Ill.) News-Democrat, fled the Midwest for Los Angeles Daily News and finally ended up at the Orange County Register. He's taught one or two classes a semester in the journalism and mass communications department at Cal State Long Beach since 2006. Somehow managed to get a lovely lady to marry him, and with her have two daughters. And a dog named Buddy. Never forget the dog.